


only cute things (no sads allowed)

by drakefeathers



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Adoption, Age Regression/De-Aging, Babysitting, Family Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 22:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17292233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakefeathers/pseuds/drakefeathers
Summary: Collection of cute batfam prompts originally filled on tumblr. Featuring: lots of de-aging, a bunch of baby!Damian (and bby others), and a couple about little Harper and Cullen being adopted into the batfam :)





	only cute things (no sads allowed)

_damian and deaged dick for lillybe-forest_

 

“I don’t babysit.”

“He’s not a baby, Damian. He’s only two years younger than you.” Bruce rubs at his forehead tiredly. “We just need you to spend some time with him, like you always do. He’s your brother. You know him.”

“I _don’t_ know him,” Damian mutters. And it’s true. He’s never met _this_ Dick Grayson before, and part of him resents the boy for not being _his_ Grayson.

Bruce pats him on the shoulder sympathetically. “Just keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t get into trouble,” he says, turning to leave. “Make sure he stays away from the chandeliers.”

“But—!” Damian protests, but the look Bruce gives him over his shoulder makes it clear there won’t be any more arguing.

“I’m working to get him back to normal as soon as I can. But I need to be able to concentrate.”

Damian goes to find the deaged Dick Grayson, grumbling and dragging his feet in spite. The boy isn’t in his bedroom, or the kitchen, or the library… and with each empty room Damian becomes more and more puzzled, even concerned.

“Grayson!” he yells from the top of the grand stairway in the foyer, where he knows it will echo through most of the house. He waits a moment then shakes his head, walking down the stairs. He mutters to himself, “Where are you…”

Too late, he notices he’s passing through the shadow of the chandelier. He doesn’t have time to look up before he’s being tackled to the shiny hardwood floor, wind knocked clean out of him and a pair of bony knees pressing into his back.

“Gotcha!” Dick crows as Damian wheezes. He stands up and holds out a helpful hand to Damian that he ignores, getting to his feet on his own to save what’s left of his wounded pride. “What kinda Robin are you, that you didn’t see that coming? I can’t believe I’d let you be my successor if you’d fall for _that_. Bet I can beat you in a fight.” Dick holds up his fists in a mock fighting pose.

“I could kill you in a dozen ways before you even blink,” Damian finds himself snapping, unable to control himself.

Dick freezes. “But Batman and Robin don’t kill,” he says slowly, looking up with big, blue, concerned eyes that do something odd to Damian. He’s reminded of the kittens he rescued from an alleyway last week.

“I know. It was simply—“ Damian sighs in frustration and decides explaining isn't worth it. He’s glad to see Titus come bounding into the room with the silly tongue-lolling expression that can only mean he wants one thing. Damian gestures Dick to follow him. “Come. We’re taking Titus for a walk.”

Dick is more than happy to join them. He plays tug-of-war with Titus over a stick, and throws a spit-covered tennis ball like he’ll never get tired of it, even hunting through mud and branches to help Titus find it when it falls too far into the bushes. 

“I love your dog!” he tells Damian, grinning. “I bugged Bruce for ages about getting a dog—a Bat-Dog, y’know?—but he just said ‘maybe one day’. Back in the circus I never had a dog of my own, but I would play with the poodles a lot. Did you know I grew up in the circus?”

Damian rolls his eyes. “I know.”

But that doesn’t stop Dick from running his mouth off with circus stories Damian has heard before, several times. Damian expects to become annoyed, but he’s not. He likes hearing these stories, even if he won’t admit it, and he likes that it makes Dick happy to tell them.

Damian watches the boy curiously as he talks. It’s odd. This younger Grayson is so much more carefree, he has a lightness to him that’s different than what Damian’s used to. He bounces on his feet so much he practically seems to be floating. Damian has never realized how much weight his Grayson’s been carrying on his shoulders until he met this one.

“Race you back to the house!” Dick says suddenly, eyes glinting mischievously.

“I’m not—“ Damian starts, scowling, but Dick is already sprinting off ahead of him with Titus on his heels. A competitive urge spurs Damian into running after him—he won’t let Grayson win this time.

 

* * *

 

_baby!damian and protective titus for gothamcitybabe_

 

Bruce got Titus as a companion and guard dog for Damian. He simply feels safer knowing there is a dog around the house, keeping an eye on the boy and the yard in the slim chance that the manor’s security systems should fail.

Great Danes are known to be gentle with children, so he thought it a good fit. But he never could have predicted how deep their bond would go. They can barely stand to be in different rooms. Titus gently carries Damian around by the back of his shirt or pants. He grooms Damian with his tongue until Alfred scolds him and scoops Damian up to give him a real bath—once Titus jumped into the bathtub with him. That was a mess.

“It’s cute,” Dick tells Bruce one afternoon, looking up from his homework to where Titus and Damian are napping in the dog’s bed, Titus curled around the boy. “Titus thinks he’s a mother and Damian’s his puppy.”

Bruce worries that Damian will start thinking the same thing—that he’s a puppy and Titus is his mother.

 

* * *

_toddler damian spying on preteen cass and steph for anon_

 

Damian has always been intrigued by the “sleepovers” Cass has with her friend Stephanie. On those particular nights, Cass’s bedroom door stays locked with a big red DO NOT ENTER sign she borrows from Jason’s door. Whenever the girls leave the room, they’re always whispering and giggling like conspirators. 

What goes on behind that door is a mystery, and Damian is determined to find out. 

He decides to be like his father and employ his detective skills. During the next sleepover he presses his ear against the door to overhear what they’re saying, but the pop music they’re playing is too loud. 

He’s startled by a loud _CRASH_ from inside, loud enough to be heard in the rest of the house, and he runs away before everyone else comes over to find out what happened.

Stephanie ends up with a sprained ankle from what she and Cass claim was an overly enthusiastic “dance party”. Damian’s suspicion only grows. But he has to wait almost two weeks for another sleepover and another chance to investigate.

This time, he sneaks into Cass’s room while they’re out getting snacks from the kitchen. He knows his time is limited, so when a quick look around doesn’t provide any clues, he grabs the first suspicious thing he sees—an odd metal device lying on the desk among bottles of nail polish and scattered sparkly hair accessories.

Damian finds Tim playing a video game on the big TV in the living room and tugs on his sleeve.

Tim is pressing buttons frantically, like his life depends on it. “What? What do you want?”

“What is this?” Damian asks, shoving the device in his brother’s face. It looks like one of his father’s crimefighting gadgets. He must learn its secrets.

“I don’t know,” says Tim, barely even looking at it. He pushes the device away hastily so he can see the TV, but he’s not fast enough to stop his game character from being killed. He groans in frustration and drops his controller on the floor. “Where did you even get that?” he asks, rounding on Damian in annoyance. A guilty look crosses Damian’s face as he tries to think up with a lie, and fails. “You took it from Cass’s room, didn’t you? You know you’re not allowed in there when she and Steph are having sleepovers. Go put it back.”

“But what is it for?” asks Damian again, determined to know.

“It’s probably just some hair thing,” says Tim, waving Damian away dismissively as he goes back to his video game. “A hair curler, or whatever they’re called. One of those.”

Damian lets out a huff and goes to put it back before he’s found out. But as he’s opening Cass’s bedroom door, he’s ambushed from behind and pushed inside. Stephanie locks the door and stands in front of it, arms crossed, while Cass holds Damian back by the collar.

“See, I told you he was spying,” Stephanie tells Cass.

“I wasn’t being a spy!” Damian insists, trying to twist himself free. “I was being a _detective_.”

Cass frowns at him, but lets go of his shirt. “Detecting what?”

“I know you’re up to something. I’m going to figure it out.” He brandishes the device he found. “What is this?”

Cass and Stephanie exchange a concerned look that makes Damian want to leap in triumph. He was right! “We’ll tell you,” says Cass. “But you have to promise… Promise you won’t tell anyone. Damian keeps promises,” she assures Stephanie.

“I promise,” Damian says gravely. Cass nods.

Stephanie takes the device from Damian and turns it over in her hands while Cass rummages around in a drawer for something. “This is a grappling gun,” says Stephanie. “Part of one, anyway. We’re still working on it.”

“Why?”

Cass shows Damian the notebook she was searching for. “Look.” It’s full of plans and costumes, _superhero costumes_. “I’m training Steph to fight with us.”

“Your dad would never let me, if he knew. That’s why it has to be a secret.” Stephanie smiles in satisfaction, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I’m going to train and make my own costume and tools, so once I’m ready I can make my surprise debut and show him I don’t need his help!” She twirls and strikes a superhero pose, her hands on her hips, like she can already imagine herself wearing a costume and stopping crime.

Damian is proud of himself. He _knew_ they were up to something, and he was right. His first big mystery solved.

Stephanie tilts her head at Cass. “So what are we going to do, now that he knows?”

“He can help.”

“How? He’s barely potty-trained.”

“Hey!” Damian pouts. “I can help.” He didn’t even want to help, until Stephanie said he couldn’t. Now he’s determined to prove her wrong.

And he does. Cass whispers in his ear what to do and he’s back in ten minutes with the parts they need from the Batcave to work on their grappling gun. Cass hugs him proudly, and he feels like a hero himself.

That’s how Damian ended up invited to join their sleepovers, to the rest of the family’s confusion.

 

* * *

 

_damian and bruce and tiny tim for anon_

_— tim is excited to get looked after by robin_

 

“Robin!” A young voice, wavering in relief, says from behind Damian. He turns around, scanning the dark alley for the source—must be a lost child. The voice comes again, quieter, almost disappointed: “You’re not Robin.”

Damian steps forward and squints into the darkness. “Yes, I… am…” he trails off in shock as he sees the boy, half-hidden behind some wooden crates. “ _Drake_? Tim?”

“You know my name?” the young Tim asks, confused. He’s so _small_ , he can’t be much older than five, and still wearing his Red Robin uniform, some of it anyway. His tunic hangs past his knees like a dress. His too-big tights and belt and boots are all lost and his legs are turning pale and splotchy from the cold. He peers up at Damian, conflicted over whether to trust him. “Who are you? You’re not Robin, your costume is wrong.”

Damian takes the dragging cape from Tim’s neck and wraps it around his body, then adds his own cape as well, bundling up the boy in fabric to keep him warmer. “Nevermind that. Do you know what happened to you?”

Tim’s eyebrows knit together. “I think… I’m dreaming. This must be a dream. Except…” His voice breaks and he bites his lip, looking pale and tense as the fear and cold and strangeness overwhelms him.

Damian resists the urge to sigh in frustration. Why did _he_ have to be the one to find Tim?

“I’m taking you to Batman,” he says, leading Tim down the alleyway. “He’ll deal with this.”

Tim’s face brightens up immediately at the name and he stops sniffling. “Batman! We’re going to go see Batman!” His eyes go wide in awe at the sight of Damian’s motorbike. 

“Yes, Batman,” repeats Damian. He lifts Tim and sets him on the bike, sitting in front of him, facing backwards, arms around his waist. He doesn't trust Tim to be able to hold on otherwise. “But you have to be quiet and hold on tight.”

Tim obeys, squeezing him around the middle with all his strength and not making a peep. But he can’t resist looking out at the road, turning his head this way and that, trying to glance over his shoulder to see where they’re going. It’s distracting and Damian places his hand on the boy’s head for a moment to make him stay still. It doesn’t work.

Not a second too soon, Damian pulls to a stop in the cave. He can’t wait to wash his hands of this tiny disaster. Tim beams up at Damian earnestly, still hugging him tight. “Thanks, Robin! That was the most fun ever!”

Damian’s expression softens, and for a moment he thinks he prefers this Tim to the regular one. It’s a pity the others will find a way to change him back.

He moves to stand and get off the bike, but it’s not that easy. He scowls at the younger boy. “Let go.” But Tim doesn’t. Clingy brat. Damian rolls his eyes. Perhaps he spoke too soon.

He’s forced to carry Tim up the stairs to where Bruce is sitting in front of the computers, deep in thought over some case files.

“Look, Tim,” Damian says in the boy’s ear. “It’s Batman.”

“Batman!” exclaims Tim, launching himself out of Damian’s arms and towards Bruce. Bruce turns around sharply, startled, and the two stare at each other speechlessly. Tim finds his voice first and babbles an endless stream of questions about the cave and the Batmobile and whether he can meet the _real_ Robin, which stings Damian a bit.

Bruce can only stare, looking slowly from the small Tim in front of him to Damian, his gaze demanding answers.

“He’s your problem now,” Damian tells him, walking away.

 

* * *

 

_batbabies nerf gun war for anon_

 

Jason is reloading and planning his attack—if he can make it past the sofa Dick’s hiding behind, he should have no problem getting a clear shot on Tim—when he realizes something’s wrong.

He turns around slowly and sees the barrel of a Nerf gun pointed at his face.

“Cass,” he hisses. “You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on Dick. What are you doing?”

She shrugs apologetically. “He said he’d do my chores… And we have almost no more ammo. Sorry, Jay.”

So it’s come to this… His own teammate betraying him. Well, he’s not finished yet. He drops his Nerf gun and holds up his hands like he’s surrendering, then snatches Cass’s weapon out of her hands and bolts across the room, dodging foam bullets from Tim and Dick. He slides behind the fish tank for cover, panting.

He can’t believe that actually worked. There’s no way Cass was fooled by his surrender—she must’ve just felt bad about the betrayal and gave him one last fighting chance. He can use that. He hopes. Behind the fish tank isn’t the best hiding place—he’s shielded but they can see him through the water, he can’t make a move without them noticing.

“Come out, Jason,” calls Dick. “It’s over. We have you surrounded.”

He’s not lying. Jason swears under his breath and squints through the fish and water, searching for some miracle, but he doesn’t have enough time. A figure is walking towards him, around the aquarium. He holds up his weapon and waits.

It’s Damian, who is _supposed_ to be on his team, armed with a toy bow and Nerf arrows. “Not you too, squirt,” groans Jason.

“Bye. You’re dead now,” says Damian as he draws back the string. 

“Not yet!” Jason makes a dash for it, his last stand, all or nothing. He won’t lose at the hands of a preschooler, at least. He surprises the others enough that he manages to make it across the room to the door which, to his good fortune, is being opened at that very moment. 

Jason takes shelter behind Bruce as the Nerf bullets are flying. He hears the gasps of horror and peeks out, stifling laughter, at their faces as they realized what they’ve done. They all try to hide their weapons behind their backs, but it isn’t fooling Bruce. He glares at them as he plucks the suction-cupped foam bullets off his body.

“We were just playing,” Dick says, looking at his feet. 

“Guns aren’t for playing with,” says Bruce sternly. “Any kind of guns.”

“Not even water guns?” asks Tim, who immediately looks like he wishes he hadn’t.

Bruce picks up some of the cardboard toy packaging they left strewn on the floor in their hurry to start playing Nerf war, and scowls even more disapprovingly. “The instructions say ages _eight_ and _up_. Tim and Damian shouldn't even be playing with these. Now clean this up or you’ll be in trouble—all of you,” he says, turning around to frown at Jason, too.

The others grumble as they gather up the foam bullets, but Jason smiles victoriously. Bruce stopping the game means he never actually lost. He beat the odds stacked against him. It makes him feel like the winner.

 

* * *

 

_damian bad at bowling for mommaursa_

 

“I think you should use this bowling ball instead,” says Dick, holding out a smaller one with blue and purple stars. A _child’s_ bowling ball.

Damian turns up his nose, clutching more tightly the big red bowling ball he already picked. “That’s for kids. I can handle this one just fine.”

Dick shrugs and shares a look with Steph. “If you say so…”

“What are those?” asks Damian, pointing. “None of the other lanes have those.”

Steph looks up from re-tying her bowling shoes. “Those are the bumpers,” she says. “They stop the ball from going into the gutters. We asked for them, since it’s your first time. It’ll—“

“I don’t need this game made easier for me. It’s just throwing a ball at some wooden blocks. Take those down and give me a challenge. Not that it will be—I expect I’ll tire of this game quickly once I defeat both of you.”

Steph and Dick exchange the same look as before. “If you say so…” she says, going to talk to the woman behind the counter.

Damian watches as Steph and Dick take their turns. Steph gets a spare and Dick only leaves one pin standing. Smirking, Damian steps up with his heavy bowling ball, certain he’ll be able to knock all of them down with one hit. How hard can it be?

The first throw goes straight into the gutter.

Damian can only stand there, staring in shock as he waits for his bowling ball to return. When he glances behind him Dick and Steph are giving each other _that same look again_.

“What?” he snaps.

“Nothing,” says Dick, holding up his hands appeasingly. “Just try again, Damian. It takes a while to get the hang of it. I’m sure you’ll be great.”

“I will,” Damian mutters to himself. His next throw goes into the gutter as well. On his third he manages to knock down four pins, which eases his pride a little.

Dick and Steph get a few strikes and spares as Damian continues to flounder. Once it becomes clear that Damian won’t be getting the hang of bowling anytime soon, the two of them get more and more gutter balls as well. He suspects they’re doing badly on purpose, to make him feel better. It doesn’t. Damian is convinced to use the smaller bowling ball halfway through, but it doesn’t make much of a difference.

After their game is finished, Dick buys Damian a plate of nachos to pick at while he mopes.

“Do you want to try the next game with the bumpers?” Steph asks, a little tentatively.

“I suppose it will allow more room for strategic thinking,” says Damian, shrugging. “The physics of it will be more interesting.”

“I’m sure they will.”

 

* * *

 

_bruce feeding baby cass for amariemelody_

 

Bruce feels like he’s barely had the chance to close his eyes when he’s woken up by the baby’s fussing. He sighs and drags himself out of bed. She must be hungry.

He picks the dark-haired baby up out of her crib and carries her to the kitchen so he can prepare a bottle like Alfred taught him. She is a strange child—she doesn’t cry, she barely makes noise at all. He’s learned how to listen for the soft, quiet sounds she makes when she needs something, but he has to keep her crib close to his bed to hear them.

It’s been three weeks and she still grabs at the bottle and clutches it like she expects it to be taken away from her. Bruce’s hands don’t shake in anger like they used to, but he curses Cain silently. What he did to this child, what he was planning, is unforgivable.

Bruce had meant to bring Cain to justice for a man he killed in Gotham, and managed to track him to a safe house. It was after he apprehended the assassin that he found the baby. Cain’s daughter. Though Bruce doesn’t think of her as that, not after what he saw in the videos and read in the training plans and heard from the confession he beat out of the man afterwards. Cain was no father.

The baby should have gone to child protective services and found her way into a good family, Bruce knows that. He also knows that this child is different. He saves children all the time, plenty of orphans like her, and he never had trouble letting them go like he did with her. When he held her and she looked up at him with those dark, intent eyes, he knew that they were alike. That she needed him, in the same way he recognized with Dick that night at the circus.

So he brought her home, to the feigned dismay of Alfred and the delight of Dick and Tim, even though he knew next to nothing about taking care of babies. Now, sitting in bed and holding her as she drinks from her bottle, he doesn’t regret it. He hasn’t for a moment.

She finishes the bottle and he strokes her hair, waiting for her to fall asleep. He should probably speak some soothing words, or sing (nobody else will hear, it will be all right). Alfred urges all of them to talk to her as much as possible to make up for the first few silent months of her life, but Bruce finds that she and him understand each other best through comfortable silence.

 

* * *

 

_steph and cass babysit damian and tim is salty :c for mareena_

 

"Who's the cutest baby?" Steph coos, shaking the rattle at Damian playfully. "You are! Aww, look at his _face_."

His face is as round and grumpy as it always is, his mouth pursed into a pout. There’s drool on his chin.

”He's the best brother,” says Cass, and kisses him on the nose. “My favourite.”

Tim, leaning against the doorframe, can’t believe what he’s hearing. He clears his throat loudly. “I’m _right here.”_

"I know,” says Cass, smiling. "I thought you were busy studying."

"I am. I'm looking for my calculator." Damian has a tendency to steal his things and hide them among his toys. Tim always checks the nursery first when something goes missing.

Steph gasps as she sees the outfit lying folded on top of the dresser. "Is that a sailor suit? We definitely have to play dress-up with Damian. Would you like that?" She lifts Damian up playfully. His chubby face twists in anger, turning red, like he’s about to start wailing. Steph sets him down on the floor quickly. "Uh oh."

He burps, and immediately his expression becomes peaceful. Cass and Steph laugh and gush over how cute it was. Tim, searching through Damian’s piles of stuffed animals for his calculator, isn’t impressed. He doesn’t get it. Burping isn’t that cute. People burp all the time.

“Cah," Damian says suddenly, reaching his short arms up.

Steph turns to Cass excitedly. ”He's trying to say your name!"

“Damian…" Cass says seriously, leaning in close. “Who is your favourite?"

“Cah,” he says again, more insistently, to their delight.

"He's not saying Cass,” Tim tells them as he fishes his stolen calculator out of the toy chest. “He's saying cat.” He says it all the time. And he’s reaching for the stuffed cat toy on the shelf.

Steph frowns and waves him away. ”Oh, shoo, Tim. You’re just jealous."

“Of _what_?” he demands, but neither of them deign to answer. Shaking his head, he heads for the door.

“Bye,” says Damian, making Cass and Steph coo over him again. Tim tells himself that babies can’t be smug… even though Damian sounds pretty close to it.

 

* * *

 

_bruce adopts bby harper and cullen :) for feministbatman_

 

Bruce doesn't notice the girl until he activates the remote-start for the Batmobile and hears a clunk and a swear among the sound of the engine coming to life.

He turns it off immediately when he sees the feet sticking out underneath his car. Grabbing a ratty sneaker, he pulls out a girl of ten or eleven, rubbing at her banged forehead and grimacing. He helps her to her feet, one hand remaining around her arm in a tight grip. Her eyes dart around them, searching for an escape.

“What were you doing?” demands Bruce, looming over her disapprovingly. In truth, he's more curious, and impressed by her guts, than angry.

“Nothing! Just looking," she says quickly. Her face and clothes are covered in dark splotches of grease and dirt.

A likely answer. Bruce grunts thoughtfully and glances from her to the Batmobile, trying to deduce the truth himself. The security measures have been acting up since his onboard computer shorted out in a chase with Freeze earlier that week. He hasn't managed to get them back online yet, but in the meantime his car's reputation has been enough to scare onlookers into giving it a wide berth, until now.

Someone must have found out and sent her to tamper with it. This won't be the first time he's seen a street kid hired by a criminal to do their dirty work.

“Who put you up to this?”

“Nobody," the girl insists. She doesn't struggle to free herself, instead she stands her ground and glares up at him resolutely. "I— I just like cars, okay? You have the best car. I was walking by and I wanted to see how it works. That's all.”

Bruce watches her for a moment, sizing her up, and decides that he believes her. Despite himself, he finds it a bit flattering—his car _is_ the best. He releases her arm and she immediately takes the opportunity to run away without looking back, nearly slipping on an icy patch in her haste. He lets her go.

Then he notices the bag full of groceries that she left lying on the ground, forgotten and soon to be sorely missed.

He tracks her down to a shabby apartment in a building that’s falling apart before his eyes—a brick falls and smashes against the steps in front of him as he walks up to the front door. Outside of her apartment door he pauses, wondering if he should just knock and set the bag on the floor, leaving before anyone answers. As he considers this, he hears a boy's voice. It comes from inside, carrying clearly into the drafty hallway.

“It’s not your fault, Harper. I’m not even that hungry right now. I got half a sandwich at lunch because a girl didn't want it.”

“It’s _not_ okay. That was all the money we had left for food, and now it’s gone because I got distracted. I’m going back out. I’ll get us more food, somehow.”

“No. Don’t go! It’s too dark now, something could—"

“I’ll be back really soon, I promise.”

The doorknob turns. Bruce still has time to leave without being seen, but he chooses not to. He's heard enough to know he should stay.

The girl freezes at the sight of him and stares speechlessly. Her brother gasps. “It’s Batman," he says in a hushed voice, looking conflicted over whether he wants to grin excitedly or wince in fright.

Harper backs away from Bruce to stand in front of her brother, as if protecting him. “Go to your room, Cullen. I’ll deal with this.”

The boy, Cullen, hesitates. “But… He’s Batman. He’s not going to hurt us.” She gives him a meaningful look, one he understands, and he hurries out of the room. A few moments later Bruce hears a window scraping open, probably to a fire escape. An escape route, just in case. Smart kids.

“Your brother is right. I’m here to help.” Bruce holds up the plastic bag and hands it to her. “Where are your parents?”

He sees each of her fears flicker in her eyes. Fear of foster homes, orphanages, being taken away and separated from her brother. He's seen situations like hers before, and he expects her to lie to him, say that her parents are out working, they'll be back soon, but she doesn't. She surprises him with her frankness.

“Our mom’s dead. And I don’t care where our dad is, we’re better off without him.” She looks down at the bag of groceries, shifting things around, checking that nothing is missing. He notices a fading bruise on her jaw that he'd mistaken for another smudge of engine grease when he first saw her. “Thanks for bringing this, but you can go now. We’re better off without you, too.”

She turns her back on him and makes herself busy putting away the food in the fridge and cupboards of the tiny kitchen. She's made it clear she wants him to leave. His conscience won't let him. He wants to ask more about her father and that bruise, but he doesn't want to pry too quickly and spook her and her brother into running off rather than risk the unknowns of the foster care system. He needs her to trust him.

His gaze lands on the mess of wires and metal parts on the kitchen table. “What’s this?”

“Our toaster. It broke. I’m fixing it.” She sits down and picks up a tool, tinkering with the pieces. It looks more like it was deliberately smashed than simply broken. “Toasted Pop-Tarts are Cullen’s favourite, and we don’t have money for a new one.”

“Would you like some help?”

“I'm pretty sure I can fix a toaster on my own.”

Cullen, who's long since left his room and stands half-hidden in the doorway to get a better look at Batman, chides his sister gently, “Harper…”

“Fine,” she says reluctantly, turning the half-assembled toaster towards Bruce and pointing. “This part is busted, see? I tried welding it back together, but it didn’t work.”

Bruce squints at it for a moment and nods. “You need a new one. The hardware stores are closed by now…” He pauses, thinking. “I can bring you the part you need tomorrow night, if you’re willing to wait until then.”

“Sure!” Cullen agrees, brimming over with excitement at the chance to see Batman again, but Harper isn't quite as won over.

“Why?" she asks, her eyes narrowed. "Why do you care?”

“I like to fix things, too. I'd like to help you fix this."

That earns him his first smile from her.

 

* * *

 

_harper and cullen as part of the family for anon_

 

It's an adjustment. That's what everyone's been saying, Bruce and Alfred and Dick and Dr Thompkins. It's what Harper's been reminding herself. It's okay to not feel at home right away, because it's an adjustment to living in a nice new house, and being part of a bigger family, and not having to fend for themselves, and not having to fear their father walking through the front door ever again.

And the fact that the man who adopted them is _Batman_. That's quite an adjustment.

Cullen's been having an easier time than her, with everything. He adores his adopted family, laughing with his new siblings and even getting along with _Damian_ , that snobby brat. Harper only wants Cullen to be happy, that's all she's ever wanted. 

But she can't help feeling jealous, even though some nights Cullen leaves his too-big bed in his too-big room and crawls in with her and they promise each other that they'll always love each other best, that nothing will ever change that. She can't help it, just like she can't help her breath catching the first time she sees Cullen hug Bruce.

When Harper is upset, she likes to spend time in the manor's garage, with all of Bruce Wayne's shiny sports cars. She sits with her back against the wheel of her favourite blue one, nibbling on a brownie she snuck from the kitchen. Dinner is soon, someone will probably be searching for her. Right on cue, she hears footsteps approaching, but she doesn't bother hiding.

Bruce looks down at her, frowning in concern. "Alfred said I might find you here." He sits down next to her on the dirty cement floor, probably ruining his expensive pants. "He and Dick are worried you aren't adjusting well."

Harper is starting to hate that word. Adjusting.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" Bruce asks slowly, then grimaces—that clearly wasn't how he meant to word it. He's not very good at this.

She takes a deep breath and blows her bangs out of her eyes. “I don’t like being another of your pet orphans," she admits, surprising herself. She never thought she'd say it out loud. "It’s just a matter of time before you dress us up and trot us out at one of your parties so everyone can talk about what a generous guy you are, taking a chance on poor kids like us. I know your game.”

“No, you don’t. There is no game.” Bruce chances placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she doesn't brush him off. “I didn’t take this lightly, Harper. I never do, when I bring people into my life. Both parts of my life. I did it because it was the best way to protect you from your father, there was no ulterior motive. And I know you and your brother didn't take it lightly, either, when you agreed."

“Everything was simpler when you were just the weirdo who checked up on us sometimes.”

“If it makes you feel better, you don’t have to come to any events. I wasn’t going to suggest it, actually. It would only draw your father’s attention.”

“That’s not all," Harper blurts out before she can stop herself. She looks up at him with eyes burning with accusation. If she doesn't say it now, while she has the courage, she never will. "Don't think I haven't noticed every kid you've taken in ends up putting on a costume and fighting murderers and monsters with you. How soon 'til you're training us to be your sidekicks?"

It's a question that's kept her up at night. Damian is a few months younger than her, and he's already Robin. Harper wouldn't mind working with Batman if it meant that she and Cullen could keep living at the manor, if that's what it takes. And part of her finds the idea thrilling, though she's a bit frightened to admit it. But then she thinks of Cullen fighting crime, Cullen dodging gunfire, and her mouth goes dry. He could be out on the streets with Batman by the time he is Damian's age.

Her question catches Bruce off-guard. His hand flinches on her shoulder, and he removes it entirely. "That... was never my intention. I never _forced_ any of them into fighting for my mission."

“But they all ended up doing it. That’s not just a coincidence.”

He gives a faint nod. “You’re right, it’s not. I have a tendency to cross paths with others determined to protect the city, no matter what. It’s more than coincidence. We seem to be drawn to each other, or so Alfred likes to say.” Bruce smiles wryly, but it shifts into something sad. “I couldn’t have stopped any of them from helping if I tried, and I did."

"I won't let Cullen be put in danger like that. He's been through enough. I won't let him get hurt ever again."

"I understand. I don't want him to get hurt, either. Or you. That's why I brought both of you here." He's quiet for a long time, brow furrowed, thinking of what to say. "Harper, I know you've been taking care of your brother for a long time, always putting him first, and I know it's been just as long since anyone's taken care of you. I... When I first lost my parents, I thought I would have to take care of myself. But I was wrong. I had family, I had Alfred. And now... you have us." It's spoken awkwardly and he knows it. He's still not good at this. He stands and offers Harper his hand. "If you'll let us."

Harper looks at his hand, then casts her eyes down and hugs her knees to her chest. "I want to sit here some more."

Bruce nods, turning to leave. Before he reaches the door, Harper's changed her mind and runs to catch up with him, wrapping her hand around his. She's willing to give him the chance.

 

* * *

 

_bby damian + kid jason + dad bruce + living room camping for identityconstellations_

 

“What is going on in here?” asks Bruce sternly, frowning at the two boys wrestling and yelling on the living room rug, surrounded by the mess they’ve made.

Jason and Damian stop fighting immediately, shrinking under his glare. Jason is wearing Bruce’s father’s old fishing hat which keeps slipping sideways off his head, and Damian has black face paint around his eyes like a mask.

“Play camp,” says Damian. That’s what they said they were going to do this afternoon, but despite the huge tent made out of cushions and blankets in the centre of the room, Bruce has trouble believing it.

“I’ve been camping. I’ve taken you both camping. I don’t remember it involving so much screaming and garbage.” It looks like they’ve taken trash cans from the rest of the house and strewn the contents around the living room. He spots a worn-out pair of socks he threw out that morning and realizes that’s exactly what they’ve done.

Jason takes a deep breath. “While we were camping we saw lights that we thought were the northern lights but they weren’t,” he explains in one big rush, and doesn’t stop. “They were coming from a weird building that turned out to be an evil scientists’ lair, and when we were investigating Damian got zapped with a laser and turned into a _werewolf_ —“

“Coon,” Damian corrects, tugging on Jason’s sleeve.

“Right, a raccoon. Were-raccoon. Then he went on a monster rampage and threw the garbage everywhere because raccoons love garbage. And I need to give him the antidote so he can turn back to normal and we can go back to camping and toast marshmallows and—“

Bruce sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Enough.” 

And he’d thought they had active imaginations _before…_ He knows he shouldn’t have told them about the cases he’s solved as Batman for bedtime stories, but they _begged_. Now he’s paying the price for giving in. 

“Go ahead,” he says, turning to leave. There’s nothing he can do about it now. “But clean this up when you’re done. And don’t tell Alfred I said it was okay.”

 

* * *

 

_baby!damian wants to adopt an elephant_

 

“She can stay in my room. I’ll make space,” says Damian on the drive home from the circus. Dick tilts the rearview mirror to look at the grumpy boy in the carseat, chuckling in amusement at his pout.

“I don’t think she’ll fit in your room even if it was empty.”

“What about the cave?” asks Damian, not giving up that easily. “Or we can build her a house in the yard.”

Dick shakes his head. “I don’t think Zitka would be happy staying with us. It gets too cold in Gotham in the winter.”

“But—!” Damian protests so vehemently he seems like he’s ready to tear himself free from his carseat. “You love her. That makes her part of our family. She belongs with us.”

“I know. But I promised her that when it was time for her to retire I would set her up in a nice elephant sanctuary, so she can be free and happy.”

“Oh,” says Damian plaintively. Silent in his disappointment, for now. Dick knows he had dreams of riding an elephant around the manor grounds.

“We’ll go visit her often, of course,” Dick adds. That cheers the boy right up.

 

* * *

 

_?? the prompt line wasn’t in the doc anymore but something with deaged tim and smol damian._

 

Damian wishes everything could go back to normal, that Tim could go back to being older and taller and bossy, which is something he never thought he would _want—_ but at least when Tim was older, that made himself the youngest. Special.

And older Tim never stayed up all night _wailing_. Damian holds his pillow over his head to block out the noise, grumbling.

Eventually Tim falls silent, and Damian can hear the creaking of the floorboards, a door closing. He bolts out of bed, knowing there’s only one thing that could have managed to calm Tim down. One person. His father must be home.

Just like he thought, he finds his father in Tim’s room. The bedroom is crowded with Damian’s old crib and an extra rocking chair that got moved in after Tim got zapped into a baby on patrol last week. His “condition”, as the others keep calling it, is supposed to wear off soon. Damian hopes so. He’s tired of having to share his toys with Tim, among other things.

“Father!” Damian exclaims. Bruce, sitting in the rocking chair with a hiccuping six-month-old in his arms, looks up frowning.

“Shh,” he says sternly. “I’m trying to get Tim to fall asleep.”

“You’re supposed to visit _me_ when you get home,” Damian complains. “You always visit me first.”

“Tim was crying. I had to help him.” Bruce keeps his voice low and calm as he patiently rocks the dark-haired baby. “You’re a big boy now, Damian, and he’s just a baby right now. He needs me more. I’ll tuck you into bed once he’s settled down.”

Damian pouts, conflicted. He wants to be big, he wants to be strong and grown-up, but right now he wants to go back to being the baby of the family just as much. But he can’t admit that, so he stomps off to his room and waits for his father.

Later, after everyone else is asleep, he sneaks into Tim’s room.

“I hate you,” he tells the drooling baby asleep in the crib. “Soon you’ll be a gross teenager again and Father will love me best, like he should.”

Tim opens his eyes and gurgles happily at the sight of Damian, reaching a tiny hand up to his face. Damian backs away, frowning.

“Hate you,” he repeats, with less conviction.


End file.
